Calla Lillies
by Shedaisies
Summary: "Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose." Sherlock has been in relationships before, when he was younger. There was one girl in particular. A girl named Lillie "Calla" Callari. Little did Sherlock know, a chance meeting would soon occur. SH/OC


I own not any of the recognizable characters, or the "jockstrap" dialogue. That was from the Pilot episode of the American Crime drama, NCIS, though they likened it to some species of frogs, not a clam.

"So, we lure 'em in, and 'ave our wicked way with 'em, but we didn't kill nobody," said the young man on the other side of the glass.

John leaned in. "That means they-"

"I'm well aware of what it means, John. You talk as though I'm a virgin," Holmes said, slightly taken aback.

"Wait, you're not?"

"No, I am not. I have not been since I was seventeen. Why does everyone think I am?"

_Possibly because you never show any emotion, Sherlock, that's why, _John thought to himself.

Donovan interjected. "Who the hell'd want to shag you?"

"Obviously, the girl who did, Donovan. By the way, he's lying. He looked down and to the left when he said he didn't kill anybody," he said, exiting the small observation room.

At that exact moment, DI Lestrade came sprinting down the hall, catching the eye of the high-functioning sociopath he had been looking for. "Oh, thank God! We need your help." _When do you not? _"Serial killer, we're bringing in both of our experts."

Sherlock cocked one eyebrow. "Both?"

"Oh, don't be a twat. Come on!"

He stuck his head back in. "John, c'mon. Another case!"

At the crime scene

They were the first to arrive. The alleyway reeked of piss, vomit and decomposing garbage. There was only one thing out of the ordinary: the body. Holmes loomed over the corpse. The genitals had been thoroughly mutilated. The innards were strewn around the body. The skin on the top of the abdomen and thighs was remove. The face was unrecognizable. The wrist of the cadaver was adorned with a small silver bracelet.

His concentration was broken as a woman ducked under the tape. Her face was not visible. A bright blue beret was clipped onto the back of her head. Chestnut hair fell in front of the slim woman's face. She wore KEDS with dinosaurs drawn on them, black skinny jeans, and a blue tank top under a leather jacket. She held a tape recorder in her gloved hand. She surveyed the area, muttering intelligible notes into it, including the smell, the appearance of the alley and the seclusion.

"Your other expert is a _girl?_"

Her head was now lowered toward the body, and she had knelt down to it. "I have doctorates in forensic pathology and forensic criminology, and I'm close to getting one in psychology. I worked for SIS for three years. I have earned my jockstrap," she defended in an American accent.

Sherlock smirked. "Does it ever give you that empty feeling?"

"What?"

"Your jockstrap? Does it ever feel like you're missing something?"

Her jaw clenched. "Like a clam, I grow what I need," she replied standing to face him.

His heart leapt. "C-Calla?"

Her eyes widened in shock, and her breath caught in her throat. "Goldilocks." They stood there in silence for a moment, lost in memories. She brought the tape recorder back to her lips. "Body state: genitals mutilated. Abdomen torn. Breasts removed. " She touched the body with her free hand. "Uterus, kidneys and one breast under head. Other breast by right foot. Liver between feet. Intestines to the right and spleen to the left of the body. Skin flaps" She looked around. "Between two garbage cans. Conclusion: Jack The Ripper Copycat."

Lestrade turned white. "How did you- JACK THE RIPPER?"

"Keep your voice down! Do you know how much hysteria would be caused if people knew that somebody imitating a serial killer _who was never caught_ was on the loose? And as for how: didn't you ever research the criminal history of your own country?" He looked at her like she was insane. "Well, you're lucky I did."

She went back to taking notes. "Victim's profession: prostitute-"

"You can tell what her profession is?"

"Yes, Lestrade. Her body, what's left of it, anyway, shows multiple signs of being a prostitute, and the history of Jack the Ripper shows that all of his victims were prostitutes. I can also tell you, by the state of the body, that this is victim number five."

Holmes and Lillie looked at Lestrade and said simultaneously, "Why wasn't I called sooner?"

"Well, number four was almost-"

"Five weeks ago, I'm aware."

He glared at her. "We thought the murders had stopped. And I mean, they're all prostitutes, right?"

Lillie's eyes flashed with sudden fire. "Are you implying that you _approve_ of this man's doings? That he's cleaning up the streets of London? Well, let me tell you something, Detective Inspector, despite lapses in judgment in their occupations, these women had families who loved them. People who they came home to. People who cared about them, who will never get to hear their voices again, never be able to kiss them on the forehead, or tell them that they love them, ever again. Think of someone other than yourself for once, Lestrade." Her uncharacteristic outburst finished, she turned red and rushed out of the crime scene.

Later, at Baker Street with John and Sherlock

"So… Calla?" John asked Holmes. "How do you know her?"

"She's the girl I was telling you about earlier," he replied sheepishly. "And her name, to you, is Lillie."

"But you weren't telling me about any Gi- Wait! _That _girl? The girl you…"

Holmes blushed. _Sherlock Holmes blushing, who would've though?_ "Yes, that girl."

John felt unusually like a gossiping schoolgirl. "How'd you get together?"

"We met in Uni. I was a freshman; she'd just started studying for her first doctorate, in forensic pathology. She was only sixteen. People tended to… mock me when I said something. That was something I never did understand: mocking someone because they were smarter than you. Anyway, she heard them one day and stood up for me. When I asked her why, she replied, 'Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose. Nobody really sticks up for sociopaths, so I guess we have to stick up for each other.' Ignore my poor lady voice.

"We got closer after that. She was one of my only friends. Now, I realize all this was beating around the bush. When her mom decided to move them back to Seattle just after term ended, she came to me crying. I could hardly understand her. She told me that she'd be moving the next day. Her mother never was one for advanced notice. Naturally, I asked her if there was anything I could do. She said that I could kiss her. I did.

"Well, kissing tuned to snogging, and snogging turned to… more. The next day, she left. We stayed in touch for as long as I was in Uni. The last I heard from her was the letter before I told her not to send anymore, that I would send another one when I found the new flat I'd been looking for. By the time I found one and sent the letter, she'd already moved. Now, I guess she's here."

"The nickname?"

"Lillie Callari. Not only does it sound like her name, but they were her favorite flowers."

John sat in silence. "And you didn't notice her anywhere? She is quite recognizable, Sherlock."

"Did forget to mention that the last time I saw her, she had purple hair with bright blue bangs, and had several peircings? Well, she did."

He was quite for a moment before asking one last question. "Was she the only person you ever had relations with?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes. Now stop talking. I'm trying to think."

Both remained quiet. After a few minutes, a shrill ringing broke the silence. Sherlock lunged for the phone. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Holmes," _Swing_ "found-" _crash_ "Park-" _thud_ "Fountains." The phone screeched in his ear.

"Watson, Come on! She's found him! They're at Hyde Park, by the fountains."

By the time they got there, Lillie, and more importantly the killer, was nowhere to be seen. The only evidence of them ever having been there were the shattered remains of a cell phone. They followed the path of destruction through the park until the sounds of punches being landed and grunts of pain were audible. The struggling pair was on the playground. More importantly, they were on a one-meter by one-meter platform about two meters off the ground.

Each threw strategic hits. Finally, Lillie came to her senses. Her small hand formed a fist, with the knuckle of her middle finger sticking out. She jabbed it into the serial killer's solar plexus, and he fell to the ground. Lillie leapt down next to the larger man who was lying there groaning in pain.

"Thanks for the help, Sherlock," she retorted sarcastically.

A rustling from the woods got all their attention. They all turned toward the sound as Lestrade stepped out. As calmly as he could, he walked up to the serial killer and cuffed him. "Thanks for the call, John," he said, shooting glares at the pair of sociopaths. "Callari, what the bloody hell are you wearing?"

This was the first time Sherlock had noticed the tall woman's appearance. Her thin frame was barely covered in a tight spandex miniskirt and a black shirt made of netting over a bright blue pushup bra, providing plenty of cleavage. Her hair was slightly teased, and her face had enough cosmetics on it to be likened to an artist's easel. She grinned wildly and glanced over to 'Jack.' "Bait."

"Bait?"

"Bait. It seemed the most logical way of nabbing him. It's not exactly common knowledge to anyone who hasn't read my theory on the Jack The Ripper case that, once the Canonical five killings were done and they were close to finding him, he switched his modus operandi. The first victim of those was found in a park. She was the sister of Mary Jane Kelly, the last of the five killings linked to the Ripper. So, given this, I figured if I dressed like a prostitute the night after my sister was killed- well just maybe-"

"When did you figure out it was your sister?"

Her lip quivered. "I started to get worried last night. She didn't come home to eat. That was strange to say the least. She always comes home for dinner. I knew she was _our_ victim when I saw the bracelet. It was the one I gave her for her birthday last month," she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she uttered the last sentence.

Sherlock Holmes had been hugged before. However, _he_ had never hugged anybody. That was why everyone, including Donovan and Anderson who had just come in through the path made by Lestrade, froze in surprise. Sherlock had reached out and pulled Lillie into his chest. One arm was wrapped around her waist; the other around her shoulders while his hand smoothed the hair of the woman now crying into his shirt.

He whispered sweet words of comfort into her ear. She looked up at him. She couldn't help thinking that she shouldn't be feeling this _now_ of all times. This was why it was strange, being a sociopath. Her sister was dead. She should be _distraught, _yet what was this fluttering in her chest? Yes, her heart. She hadn't felt like this since… well, since the last time she had been in his arms. She hadn't noticed that she was staring, but that was okay. He hadn't noticed that _he_ had been staring, either.

"I've missed you, Goldilocks."

"And I, you, Calla." That admittance was enough for her. Lillie stood slightly more one her toes, (though not much, because she was only four inches shorter than him) and she kissed him deeply.

All but one of the onlookers, long forgotten by the couple, were flabbergasted. John turned to Sally. "An extension of what Sherlock was telling you earlier; obviously _that_ girl."

"You mean to tell me that she- SHE'S THE ONE WHO SHAGGED THE FREAK?"

Lillie pulled back. Can I kick John in the shin?" He replied by distracting her with his lips.

Sherlock broke the kiss. "You hair is much lovelier in it's natural state." She giggled and trapped his mouth with her own.

Lestrade cleared his throat loudly. "Dou you _mind_?"

"No, you can leave," he mumbled.

A dramatic eye roll later, the pair was left alone to their reunion. "Sherlock, I need to change." _Kiss_ "I'm hardly wearing anything." He kissed down her jaw line as she continued to object. "Sherlock, we're in the middle of a-" A sharp intake of breath stopped her lecture as Sherlock's teeth sunk into her neck. He smirked and bit harder, happy with knowing that he could still get that reaction. She arched her back, eliminating the nonexistent gaps between the two. "That notion can go to hell," she whispered, tangling her hands in the curly hair. She closed her eyes and let herself surrender to the bliss that could only be described as _Sherlock Holmes._


End file.
